Introduction
Recent Cold War historiography has shifted from an exclusive focus on diplomatic and military conflicts to exploring the social and cultural ramifications of ideological struggles. Scholars such as Tony Shaw emphasize that ‘all wars, especially cold wars, are fought in part through words and images’.Footnote 1 A substantial body of literature has examined how culture functioned as a battleground for shaping ideological loyalties, particularly through the media, art, and propaganda in the superpower rivalry between the United States and the Soviet Union.Footnote 2 However, Patrick Major and Rana Mitter highlight a crucial gap in scholarship: the limited attention given to the cultural battlefield in non-European contexts. They argue for the inclusion of Asian actors as active participants in shaping the Cold War’s global cultural dynamics, a perspective that resonates with calls to decentre the Cold War from its presumed epicentre in the United States and Europe. They encourage scholars to investigate cultural practices in the East as products of a ‘globalised Cold War cultural environment’.Footnote 3 It echoes strongly the call to shift attention from the presumed ‘centres’ to the periphery—the far-flung regions where people and their nationalist leaders formed an alternative third way to oppose Western imperialism and Stalinism.Footnote 4 Cold War historians have started to look at the global encounters that arose between artists, writers, film-makers, and intellectuals from Third World countries, in which these non-state actors came together to circumvent ideological constraints set out by the ‘centres’ and, hence, to shape regional or local order in unpredictable ways.Footnote 5
In the Southeast Asian context, Tuong Vu challenges the dominant narrative that the Cold War simply ‘spread’ from Europe to Asia, arguing instead that Asian actors played an equally significant role in shaping the conflict.Footnote 6 Likewise, Michael Szonyi and Hong Liu stress the importance of understanding local and regional experiences to appreciate the diverse ways in which the Cold War was lived and interpreted on the ground and in the periphery.Footnote 7 This article engages with these debates by examining the intersection of three critical themes in Cold War Singapore: decolonization, Third World internationalism, and the ‘Chinese question’.Footnote 8 During Singapore’s decolonization process, the British initially sought a gradual transition to self-governance through the ‘Grand Design’ plan,Footnote 9 but Cold War tensions, exacerbated by the Malayan Emergency (1948–1960), disrupted this trajectory. The British crackdown on leftist movements, particularly among the Chinese-educated youth, led to social unrest and ethnic tensions, thus complicating Singapore’s path to independence.Footnote 10 At the same time, the rise of Third World internationalism, epitomized by the 1955 Bandung Conference, provided ideological inspiration for left-wing activists in Singapore who sought to forge a path beyond Cold War binaries.Footnote 11
The ‘Chinese question’ was central to Cold War politics in Southeast Asia. As historian Ang Cheng Guan argues, ‘it was Communist China more than the Soviet Union that fuelled the Cold War in Southeast Asia, and thus if one has to identify a point critical to the development of the Cold War in post-World War Two Southeast Asia, it would be 1949, specifically 1 October which marked the inauguration of the People’s Republic of China’.Footnote 12 The geopolitical contest between the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and the Republic of China (ROC) in Taiwan intensified tensions within the Chinese diaspora in Singapore and Malaya. The United States, working closely with the ROC and British colonial authorities, sought to counter communist influence through cultural propaganda, promoting an image of ‘Free China’. As a result, the Chinese diaspora inevitably found itself caught in a complex web of allegiances, torn between competing national, ideological, and local identities.
Within this broader geopolitical landscape, Chinese-educated youth in Singapore, frequently labelled as ‘communist sympathizers’, participated in various sociocultural activities that articulated their visions for an independent Malayan nation. There is a growing interest in understanding their everyday struggles in Singapore from a micro-history perspective. For example, attention has been given to their diverse sociocultural activities in film-making, literary writing, and performing arts through which they expressed their idealistic visions for an integrated multiracial Malayan nation and identity.Footnote 13 Among these activities, two left-wing art societies—Yi Yan Hui and its successor, the Equator Art Society (EAS)—stood out as a crucial yet understudied aspect of Cold War cultural history.Footnote 14 Many of the members were trained at the Nanyang Fine Academy of Arts (NAFA) under the tutelage of its first principal Lim Hak Tai (1893–1963). Unlike the proclaimed left-wing artists of Yi Yan Hui and the EAS, Lim was a socially engaged artist and an advocate of Nanyang art whose aesthetic styles and philosophy exemplify a Third Way that bridges the binary world of Western avant-garde art (including post-expressionism, expressionism, and Cubism) versus social realism.
Although adhering to different artistic principles and political ideologies in art-making, these individuals were all important pioneers and witnesses of a new art movement called Social Realism.Footnote 15 Social Realism in the Singapore context—as shown in the catalogue of the exhibition Siapa Nama Kamu in the National Gallery Singapore—refers to a movement intent on reflecting life and times in Singapore. The movement advocates a social-realist style of painting and a socially engaged form of practice that directly involved their subjects to create works that comment on social issues.Footnote 16 By interrogating the fluid boundaries between art societies and individual artists, all of whom were influenced by the art movement of Social Realism, this article argues that their artworks need not be understood as a vehicle for Cold War propaganda. Instead, they should be seen as a nuanced response to the realities of colonialism, nationalism, and decolonization.
In spite of offering an important addition to the scholarship of Southeast Asian art history, this article also claims novelty in shedding light on how the ethnic Chinese were positioned in the region through a visual lens amid the tensions of the Cold War.Footnote 17 The Chinese-educated in Singapore, consisting of left-wing youth, intellectuals, and artists who had been negatively cast as ‘communist sympathizers’, often found their everyday lives were interwoven with Cold War geopolitics. However, they enacted agency through visual representations in diverse art mediums—ranging from oil paintings, woodcuts, and sketches—to voice their resistance to colonialism, and express their cultural imaginary about an independent Malaya. Borrowing from John J. Curley’s famous coinage, ‘the Cold War as a way of seeing’,Footnote 18 this article tries to make sense of the everyday struggles of the left-wing Chinese youth during the Cold War through the visual images they created and circulated.
Recasting the ‘Chinese question’ in Cold War Singapore
Before and during the Second World War, political divisions within the Chinese diaspora in Southeast Asia were already apparent, with allegiances split between right-wing nationalists and left-wing communists. These divisions deepened during and after China’s Civil War as both the PRC and ROC launched campaigns to secure the loyalty of overseas Chinese. The communist victory in China in 1949 intensified pro-PRC sentiment among left-leaning Chinese in Singapore and Malaya, particularly in trade unions and Chinese-language schools, where leftist ideals were disseminated through books, films, and music imported via Hong Kong.Footnote 19 The British colonial authorities viewed these developments with suspicion. Fearing that the Chinese diaspora could become a ‘fifth column’ for communist expansion, they declared the Malayan Emergency in 1948, cracking down on leftist organizations and banning communist-affiliated groups.Footnote 20 Repressive measures, including censorship of Chinese-language publications and surveillance of cultural organizations, were enacted to curb communist influence.Footnote 21 In Singapore, while Chinese-educated youth were not engaged in armed conflict, they participated in strikes, protests, and socialist-themed cultural performances, leading the British to tighten control over Chinese associations and schools.Footnote 22 Left-wing Chinese sociocultural associations were closed off and publications from China were either banned or placed under strict colonial surveillance.Footnote 23 Targeted mostly at the Chinese in Singapore and Malaya, these draconian measures should be understood as local ramifications of Cold War geopolitics, in which the ‘Chinese question’ was more often than not defined by their overtly China-mindedness that became a synonym of communism and carried ambiguous connotations of Chinese chauvinism.
The struggle over Chinese identity in Cold War Singapore was not only shaped by the PRC’s outreach but also by the ROC’s efforts to position itself as the legitimate guardian of Chinese culture. The United States supported these efforts, working closely with Taiwan to promote anti-communist propaganda through books, radio programmes, and films. Cultural institutions such as the United States Information Service (USIS) played an active role in countering the influence of the PRC, collaborating with Hong Kong and Malayan agencies to disseminate visions of ‘Free China’.Footnote 24 For example, the enterprise Sound Masters of New York, founded by the United States Information Agency (USIA), made anti-communist movies, such as the Kampong Sentosa and Singapore Story. Footnote 25 They were screened by local agents (the Shaw Brothers and the Cathay) in Singapore that were closely associated with the ROC in Taiwan.Footnote 26 To recap briefly, Cold War struggles in Singapore and Malaya were far from bipolar in that the Chinese diaspora was pulled at least four ways: communist China, the United States-ROC alliance, the late British colonial government, as well as the emerging nationalist government.Footnote 27
Caught in the crossfire of these ideological battles, the Chinese diaspora in Singapore faced multiple and often conflicting pressures. The British sought to reorient Chinese identity away from external allegiances through a policy of ‘Malayanization’, which promoted a locally rooted national identity. In order to cultivate a Malaya-oriented consciousness, colonial-sanctioned programmes of Malayanization were imposed. The propaganda machine, involving a wide range of media, such as radio, films, magazines, and newspapers, was exploited to conduct counter-insurgency against communism and to spread the seeds of patriotism for Malaya.Footnote 28 Education was central to this effort. The British sought to diminish the influence of Chinese-language schools by introducing English as the primary medium of instruction and implementing strict controls on Chinese education.Footnote 29 Notably, in Malayanization, what the colonial cultural policy intended to promote was an ‘Anglicised version of Malaya’.Footnote 30 As Harper points out, in practice the quest for Malayan culture meant ‘entrenching the English language as [the] first language of [the] post-colonial elite’.Footnote 31 This was most evidently manifested in the creation of an English-dominated education system to replace all other vernacular schools. However, as the language of the colonizers, English was never perceived as neutral, least of all in the eyes of the majority Chinese who were determined to preserve their communal language and education.Footnote 32
These language and education policies faced opposition from the Chinese community, particularly from students who perceived them as an attempt to erase their cultural identity. The conflict over identity and education peaked during a series of student protests and boycotts in the 1950s, including the 1954 May Thirteenth (513) Incident, in which Chinese middle school students held demonstrations against British conscription policies.Footnote 33 These demonstrations reinforced British beliefs that Chinese schools were hotbeds for communist agitation, which resulted in increased suppression of student activism. Driven by intense emotions and suffering, this incident inspired left-wing Chinese youth to utilize woodcutsFootnote 34—an artistic medium popularized during the Anti-Japanese Resistance in Malaya—to expose colonial violence, elicit emotional responses, and mobilize the masses. Choo Keng Kwang’s woodcut titled 513 Incident (1954) (Figure 1) vividly depicts an imposing Indian policeman and terrified, panic-stricken students, capturing the violent confrontations of the period.Footnote 35 Such images were published in Chinese student publications, such as Selection of Woodcuts and Cartoons by Singapore and Malayan Artists, and circulated widely among Chinese readers.Footnote 36 Koeh Sia Yong, an important social realist artist who later became the president of the EAS, witnessed the turbulent student movements of the late 1950s while he was a student at the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts. He learnt woodcut techniques alongside his senior peers, many of whom came from radical Chinese middle schools that were at the forefront of the student protests. His woodcut print Missing out on School (1957) (Figure 2) not only addressed the urgent need for education for Chinese teenagers, but also sharply highlighted the class divide between children from wealthy families who could afford education and those from poor families who were compelled to miss out on it.Footnote 37
Choo Keng Kwang, Incident 513, 1954. Woodblock print on paper, 20.5 x 15.5 cm.
Koeh Sia Yong, Missing out on School, 1957. Woodcut print, 20.5 x 15.3 cm.
What underpinned these struggles was a firm belief that Chinese youth were entitled to equal rights and that the Chinese language and education should be preserved in the nation-state that was to emerge. However, it is important to note that such a belief was neither communal nor chauvinistic. Instead, Chinese youth advocated for a non-Anglicized version of Malaya, by adopting the Malay language as the common denominator that could unite the three racial groups in public and social life. Throughout the 1950s–1960s, a Malay term ‘Merdeka’, meaning independence and freedom from colonization, emerged to gain great popularity among the Chinese youth and became a political vehicle for social mobilization.Footnote 38 The term signified a crucial transitional moment characterized by an emphatic cry for decolonization regardless of races, languages, religions, and political affiliations.Footnote 39 Cries for Independence (1956) was an important sketch that toured with Yi Yan Hui’s travelling art exhibition of 1956. It portrays a multi-ethnic procession of Chinese, Malay, and Indian youth marching in solidarity for a peaceful strike (Figure 3).Footnote 40 The sketch depicts a pivotal moment of decolonization, featuring banners that declared ‘Protect Peace, Fight against Wars’ and ‘Long Live Liberty, Democracy, and Independence’. An aerially displayed ‘MERDEKA’ sign, held aloft by a dove symbolizing peace, was also included. It celebrated freedom and acknowledged the collective efforts of diverse communities in resisting colonialism.
Hua Bin, Cries for Independence, 1956.
A great boost for the Merdeka movement was the emerging internationalism that called for cooperation and unity among diverse ethnic groups in support of each other’s anti-colonial resistance.Footnote 41 With an emphasis on their common experience of suffering under colonialism, internationalism afforded people in these countries the urgency to discard racial differences and work together like brothers to fight against colonialism. Local articulations of a Malayan identity, or Malayanization, often placed the focal point on anti-colonialism, which required the Chinese to build cross-ethnic friendship with the Malays and Indians.Footnote 42 Therefore, Malayanization, as seen through the eyes of local ethnic Chinese, was more of a spontaneous effort to redefine their national culture and identity in relation to the regional decolonization process and Third World politics than a British-designed colonial project.
Another important local ramification was the Anti-Yellow Cultural Movement (AYCM) that gained momentum from the Chinese student activism. The AYCM was sparked by the notorious rape and murder of 16-year-old Chinese schoolgirl Chong Geok Tin at Pearl’s Hill in 1953. When the case remained unsolved by the police, the Chinese youth were outraged, resulting in a moral panic about the ‘yellow culture’ that was believed to derive from colonial, Western-influenced capitalist culture. By launching a moral war against colonial culture, left-wing Chinese youth articulated the righteousness of building a morally upright, healthy, and socialist Malayan culture. This call, by its very nature, was nationalistic in that it aimed to construct a unified and integrated Malayan identity and culture that would serve the interest of the multi-ethnic (Chinese, Malays, and Indians) people of Malaya.Footnote 43 Nonetheless, the anti-colonial and anti-Western call of the AYCM was in line with the art credo of Yi Yan Hui and the EAS. On 28 July 1956, the preparatory committee of the EAS published a special issue in the Chinese-language newspaper Sin Pao in favour of the AYCM, declaring itself a firm supporter of the movement as its members were dedicated to creating patriotic, progressive, and healthy Malayan art.Footnote 44
In the early phase of decolonization in the 1950s, there were manifest cleavages in what the high politics, ranging from the big powers of the United States and the colonial British, to the Asian actors such as the ROC and the PRC designed for Malaya—and how the peoples of Malaya on the ground saw, lived, and experienced decolonization and the Cold War. The trajectories of these art societies were as deeply embedded in the complex geopolitics of the Cold War as they were in the lived experiences of the people of Malaya and Singapore. While their artworks were framed by colonial authorities as tools of communist propaganda, they also represented a localized articulation of resistance, shaped by regional and international influences. These artists navigated complex ideological landscapes, demonstrating that cultural activism in Cold War Singapore was not merely a reflection of external superpower conflicts but an assertion of agency in the struggle for national identity and self-determination. Importantly, I intend to engage with the seemingly binary art world represented by the outwardly left-wing artists and the so-called Nanyang artists, and thereby put forward the argument that the art-political and aesthetic-ideological divides were less a concern for actual artistic practice. What really shaped their epistemology and artistic creation were the interlaced contexts of decolonization, nationalism, and internationalism.
Chinese student activism, Yi Yan Hui, and the Travelling Art Exhibition of 1956
In 1954, Chinese student activism in Singapore reached its peak in the May Thirteenth Incident. The confrontation was triggered by the British colonial government’s attempt to enforce the National Service Ordinance, which required male students to serve in the military against Malayan Communist Party (MCP) guerrillas. On 13 May, more than a thousand Chinese middle school students marched peacefully to submit a petition for exemption, but were forcibly dispersed by police, provoking widespread resentment within the Chinese community. Accused of rioting, students were arrested and Chinese schools temporarily closed. With negotiations repeatedly failing, student demonstrations escalated in the following months, reinforcing British suspicions of communist involvement. In response, the government adopted increasingly repressive measures, including the Registration of Schools Ordinance (1954), which authorized the closure of Chinese schools deemed to be engaged in ‘subversive’ activities.Footnote 45 The violent confrontations with colonial authorities convinced Chinese students of the need for a unified organization to represent their interests. On 6 October 1955, they established the Singapore Chinese Middle School Students’ Union (SCMSSU, Zhongxuelian), which coordinated student activism, organized cultural activities, and advocated for Chinese education.Footnote 46 Through fundraising, literary and artistic endeavours, and participation in regional conferences, the SCMSSU sought to assert their cultural and political agency despite British repression.Footnote 47
Functioning largely as a ‘cultural front’ of the SCMSSU, Yi Yan Hui was born from the ashes of Chinese student activism. It was founded in 1953 by graduates of Chinese middle schools who sought to integrate artistic expression with social activism. Inspired by the Social Realism art movement and local nationalist fervour, and fuelled by the populist call of the AYCM, their works often depicted themes of labour struggles, colonial oppression, and aspirations for a progressive culture of independent Malaya. From August–September 1956, supported by the Chinese Chamber of Commerce, Yi Yan Hui undertook a travelling art exhibition, starting in Singapore, then moving on to Kuala Lumpur and Penang. Art historian Yeo Man Thong points out that the idea of a travelling exhibition was drawn from the famous Russian realist art group Peredvizhniki, often called the Wanderers or Itinerants.Footnote 48 By the end of the travelling exhibition, it was estimated that the total viewers amounted to 20,000 with an average of about 1,200 visitors coming to the exhibition each day. Students, labours, peasants, and teachers made up a large majority of the audiences.Footnote 49 Enshrining the principle of social realism in addressing social problems, as Maco Hsu commented, ‘there was common melancholic tone and realist tenor expressing the anger, sadness and injustice for the unfortunate’.Footnote 50
Yi Yan Hui’s travelling art exhibition of 1956 was held at a critical moment that witnessed the most intensive struggles for Chinese education. Chua Mia Tee, one of the most active members in Yi Yan Hui, who later became the founding father of EAS, was known to have a close relationship with Chinese middle school student groups. He himself was once enrolled in Chung Cheng High School, which was once a focal point of Chinese student activism. At Yi Yan Hui’s 1956 art exhibition, Chua’s artwork Epic Poem to Malaya (1955) (Figure 4) drew much attention. Drawing on his own experience of Chinese schools’ extra-curricular activities, Chua depicted a group of Chinese school students gathered around in an open field, listening attentively to a male student leader who is giving a passionate speech, judging from the red book in his hand titled Malayan History. The exhibition caption reads:
Who does not passionately love his country? Who does not passionately love his own kind-hearted compatriots? The fate of the people of any country are inseparable from the fate of his country. As citizens of Malaya, people are naturally to be moved by the recitation of an epic poem which documents the struggles of our motherland. Even if everyone may have different level[s] of this patriotic feeling, even if this only capture a minor entertaining moment at the students’ picnic.Footnote 51
Chua Mia Tee, Epic Poem of Malaya, 1955. Oil on canvas, 105.5 x 125 cm.
Despite being a nationalistic statement on Chinese students’ role in shaping Malaya, Simon Soon argues that Chua’s works fostered a vision of Malaya aligned with socialist and internationalist ideals.Footnote 52 He situates the painting within Malaya’s broader political landscape, linking the picnic scene to real-life gatherings where left-wing student groups discussed Third World affairs, anti-colonial movements, and Marxist theories.Footnote 53 This interpretation can be corroborated by historical evidence; for instance, reports from British Special Branch officers described student picnics as sites of communist recruitment, whereas former participants recall performances of socialist songs and ideological discussions.Footnote 54
In terms of artistic approach, Chua is known for his use of a documentary lens in realism.Footnote 55 This commitment to realism not only defines his photographic rendering of the subject, but also underlines his belief in using art to bring about ‘truth’ or the ‘intangible’ realities of life.Footnote 56 He believed that in creating a documentary film, the artist must construct the narrative, cast the characters, and set the stage. This process is not about recording factual accuracy but rather about taking a stance and employing creativity to convey reality.Footnote 57 As Chua’s most representative work of realism, the Epic Poem to Malaya (Figure 4), therefore can be interpreted as a documentary, partly because it reflects the reality of how Chinese youth passionately devoted themselves in the nation-building of independent Singapore. More importantly, it is presented in a way that drew viewers to understand the reality through Chua’s own experiences and principles, that is, how he became involved in the political struggle of student activism. Here, the ‘real’ is achieved through the artist’s agency in expressing the thoughts of the student groups, entering into their consciousness, and reflecting their life conditions.
Chua also designed the front cover (Figure 5) of the travelling art exhibition catalogue that embodied the spirit of a Malayan culture built upon the unity of three ethnic groups.Footnote 58 The sketch depicts the solemn and dignified faces of three young men of a similar age, aged between approximately 15 to 25. They represented the core strength of the anti-colonial independence movement at that time. Furthermore, the artist employed smooth and delicate brushstrokes to outline the facial features of the Indian, the Malay (wearing a distinctive songkok), and Chinese groups. The three young men gaze resolutely into the distance, symbolizing their shared sense of responsibility for the future destiny of the nation. As the cover, this artwork conveyed to the public and the government the purpose of this touring exhibition: to unite the three major ethnic groups of Singapore and Malaya through healthy art, working together to advance the Merdeka movement of Malaya and build a multicultural Malayan culture and identity.
Chua Mia Tee, front cover for Yi Yan Hui’s travelling art exhibition in 1956.
Xie Shangqing’s charcoal painting, Learning Malay Dance (1956) (Figure 6), also addressed the ethnic issue but from a different perspective. It depicts a moment of inter-ethnic bonding: a Malay girl leads a dance, while Chinese students follow her movements, all immersed in an atmosphere of shared joy. This scene exemplifies the genuine desire of Chinese students to embrace and learn from other cultures. Supported by varied historical evidence, this artistic re-creation reflects actual cultural exchanges of the era. For instance, in 1956, Yi Yan Hui’s Indian Dance Appreciation Concert inaugurated such exchanges between Chinese and Indian student groups.Footnote 59 This was followed by other cultural performances by Chinese middle schools featuring Indian and Malay styles. In 1960, the Nan Chiao Girls School performed the popular Malay dance Tandjung Ria, and in 1959, a multicultural concert organized by the Nanyang University Students’ Union showcased performers from diverse ethnic backgrounds.Footnote 60 Influenced by traditional Malay dance experts like Surianty Liu Chun Wai, Chinese students even participated in Malay dance troupes, reinforcing inter-ethnic interactions.Footnote 61 Suffice it to say the cross-ethnic camaraderie portrayed in these artworks thus reflects not merely an ideal of the social realists, but a lived ethos among Chinese student activists in decolonizing Singapore.
Xie Shangqing, Learning Malay Dance,1956. Charcoal painting.
However, in 1956, the colonial government, wary of the society’s perceived communist leanings, forcibly dissolved Yi Yan Hui, marking the beginning of intensified repression of left-wing cultural groups. It is worth mentioning that not only Yi Yan Hui, but many other left-leaning Chinese organizations, trade union, and student leaders were also arrested in September and October of 1956. These included the Anti-Yellow Cultural Council, the SCMSSU, the Singapore Women’s Association, and the Chinese Musical Gong Society.Footnote 62 Initiated by the new chief minister, Lim Yock Hock, this move was crucial in Singapore’s decolonization as it took place at a critical point in negotiating with Britain for Singapore’s self-government and partial independence. Lim’s strident anti-communism also had much to do with the operation of Cold War politics, involving the attitude of the United States. Soon after Lim became chief minister, he told an American diplomat that he was determined to lead Singapore ‘towards a positive anti-communist position’ and that he hoped the United States would ‘help [him] from time to time’. Thus the pro-Western and anti-communist attitude that Lim deliberately projected was to convince the British and the United States that his government was worth supporting and Singapore was ready for independence.Footnote 63
The emergence and radicalization of the Equator Art Society, 1956–1968
Following Yi Yan Hui’s dissolution, former members regrouped to form the Equator Art Society (EAS) in September 1956. The EAS continued the legacy of Yi Yan Hui by taking a critical stance towards the shifting political landscape. The society emphasized the role of art in nation-building, aligning its work with broader anti-colonial and nationalist movements. EAS artists produced paintings that reflected both the anxieties and aspirations of Singapore’s transition to independence. Their works engaged with themes of racial unity, social justice, and the dignity of labour, challenging Western-centric narratives of modernity and progress.Footnote 64 From its founding in 1956 to its demise in 1974, EAS organized six art exhibitions in total.Footnote 65 Throughout these exhibitions, EAS adhered to the belief that art comes from the people and should serve the people.
Chua Mia Tee, a former member of Yi Yan Hui and the founding member of EAS, created an oil painting National Language Class (1959) (Figure 7), which later became a symbol of Singapore’s search for nationhood. Exhibited at the EAS’s second exhibition in 1960 (one year after Singapore gained self-governance), the artwork depicts Chinese students eagerly learning Bahasa Malayu. The scene was taken not only from Chua’s personal experiences of learning the Malay language, but also from the socio-political milieu of the era. Created during a pivotal moment when the Singapore government, under Lee Kuan Yew, was actively pursuing a merger with the Malayan Federation, the work captures both the political drive to adopt Malay as the national language and the cultural commitment of Chinese youth to their adopted homeland. Additionally, the characters portrayed in the work were modelled on his close friends and classmates, with his Indonesian friend Herman Ali acting as the teacher.Footnote 66 Suffice it to say the artwork, which employs a documentary approach to capture the ‘realness’ and ‘authenticity’ of its subjects, exemplifies Chua’s dedication to social realism.
Chua Mia Tee, National Language Class, 1959. Oil on canvas, 112 x 132 cm.
Stylistically speaking, the figures were arranged in a circular formation around a table, creating a closed, intimate space that emphasized unity and dialogue. The warm, earthy palette created a calm, grounded atmosphere and evoked a humble interior. The anatomy of the figures was realistic: the characters appeared healthy, composed, and alert, symbolizing a hopeful, disciplined youth. On the chalkboard in the background are questions written in Malay: ‘Apa nama kamu?’ (What is your name?), ‘Di mana awak tinggal?’ (‘Where do you live?’), echoing the nationalistic fervour of the era.Footnote 67
The year 1965 was crucial in that it was a painful moment for Singapore which gained ‘unexpected’ independence after the failure of the merger with Malaysia. Being caught up in great uncertainty and anxiety about its future, the country had to embark on an arduous journey of nation-building. Aligning with a strong nationalistic sentiment, the EAS criticized artists who attempted to replicate Western art, which lacked any national character. They further declared that art that was intended to uphold national dignity and aid in nation-building should require a profound devotion and affinity for Singapore.Footnote 68 Ostensibly, the predominant artworks by EAS members enshrined social realism as their main aesthetic principle to express a devoted nationalistic fervour. However, the debate persisted over which art forms and aesthetic schools were considered appropriate to represent Singapore’s nationhood and what national character was most likely to foster the nation-building of Singapore. Here, an oil painting by Koeh Sia Yong is particularly noteworthy for taking up the issue of how to treat Western-derived techniques and locally oriented subject matter. Titled Ferry Boat by K. Terenggauna (1965) (Figure 8), the artwork depicts a local coastal scene on the east coast of Peninsular Malaya. The scene captured a moment of harbour activity—boats preparing to sail or returning with their catch. Human figures were integrated into the boats, not highlighted individually, emphasizing collective labour over personal portraiture. Although the piece is monochromatic, possibly due to a reproduction in print, a cursory colour analysis can be made. In particular, the sails acted as light catchers, their brightness contrasting strongly against darker surroundings, becoming focal points. The reflections in the rippled water are handled with rhythmic brushstrokes, creating visual harmony between sea and sky. In terms of aesthetic styles, the treatment of light on water and the quick, broken brushwork show strong ties to Impressionist techniques. Here, Koeh’s hybrid blending of Impressionist techniques and local landscape powerfully interrogated the rigid artistic-ideological divide and criticism made about Western art by some EAS members.
Koeh Sia Yong, Ferry Boat by K. Terenggauna, 1965. Oil painting.
Despite the commitment to nationalistic artistic creation, the EAS faced increasing government scrutiny in the 1960s, particularly as Cold War tensions escalated. The radicalization of some members, influenced by Maoist thought and the Vietnam War, led to further suppression. In 1968 traces of radicalization in the EAS were evidenced in a red poster about the Vietnam War put up by members (Figure 9), accompanied by a two-line Maoist slogan stamped onto the back page of the exhibition catalogue: ‘any dark forces that jeopardise the masses must be exposed, any revolutions by the people must be eulogised!’.Footnote 69 The radicalization of the EAS was largely a ramification of the outbreak of Chinese Cultural Revolution in June 1966. As Yinghong Cheng observes, the PRC’s Cultural Revolution ushered in new stimuli to its left-wing cultural diaspora that had been receiving its ideological and political influences through various covert channels.Footnote 70 For instance, Koeh recalls that the EAS had a library that collected books from China. These cultural materials were used as the foundation of the training of EAS members. Books were brought in by sailors who sold them to local bookstores clandestinely.Footnote 71
Cover and back page of the EAS’s sixth exhibition catalogue.
Several artworks that adopted the theme of the Vietnam War to praise communist revolutions were not publicly exhibited. Nevertheless, influenced by China’s Cultural Revolution, EAS members, including Koeh himself, showed an increasing interest in using social realist art to engage with Cold War politics and the dissemination of revolutionary messages. For example, Koeh created an oil painting titled Children of the Vietnam War (1966) (Figure 10), in which he exposed the cruelty of American troops in deploying ‘napalm’ to raze the whole village, including communists and civilians. The viewers could immediately relate the scene to the Vietnam War with its depiction of soldiers using a flamethrower in the battlefield while helicopters hovered in the background.Footnote 72 In the painting, grass was painted with long, rhythmic, diagonal strokes—these lines both conceal and lead the eye towards the boys, producing motion and agitation. Muted, smoky sky and grey helicopters created an oppressive counterpoint to the warm field. The faces and hands of the two boys are more detailed than other areas, revealing the emotional dimension. Their faces are alert and turned in the same direction, a shared gaze that implies imminent threat. One child’s hand near the other hints at protection or solidarity. Tension, fear, and vulnerability are accompanied by a sense of premature firmness and solidarity.
Koeh Sia Yong, Children of the Vietnam War, 1966. Oil on canvas, 67 x 98cm.
Although Koeh himself was not present at the war site, he might have reproduced the scene from newspaper reports about the war, which were made available by left-wing presses and publications.Footnote 73 For instance, updates about the war situation in Vietnam featured significantly in Zhenxian Bao (The Front), which was a bi-weekly Chinese-language newspaper run by Singapore’s major left-wing political party Barisan Sosialis (Socialist Front of Singapore). Since the founding of Barisan in 1961 by a group of pro-communist nationalists, Zhenxian Bao had been a mouthpiece to propagate the socialist vision of the party, to spread news about Third World revolutions and class struggles, and to criticize the pro-social democratic nationalists led by Lee Kuan Yew’s government. From March 1966, a predominant section in Zhenxian Bao started to call for united action by the Malayan people to aid the Vietnam War. This was mainly due to the escalation of warfare in Vietnam, with the United States launching more aggressive military actions and China giving military assistance to defend North Vietnam.
To sum up, from the mid-1960s, EAS artists displayed a burgeoning enthusiasm for employing visual representations to address the Vietnam War and engaging with Mao’s revolutionary ideology. This radicalization should be interpreted as part and parcel of the radical turn in the region, which resulted from the intensification of the Cold War confrontations in Asia. The 1968 exhibition held by the EAS was the last one in its history. Government officers from the Criminal Investigation Department (CID) were sent to the site to investigate, while its members were summoned for interrogation.Footnote 74 In February 1970, the police were said to have broken into the premises of the EAS, seizing and taking away suspicious materials. Two members of the EAS were arrested by the police for engaging in pro-communist subversive activities.Footnote 75 In 1974, the EAS was dissolved by the government for wilfully contravening Regulation 3 of the Societies Registration, 1967.
Interrogating the binary world through Lim Hak Tai’s Third Way Nanyang Art, 1950s–1960s
It is important to note that the social realist trend was not monolithic, nor were its representations mainstream. This is evident in the dual art world of the Nanyang Academy of Fine Arts (NAFA)—the sole professional art school in postwar Singapore and Malaya. The first principal of NAFA was a Xiamen-born migrant named Lim Hak Tai, who aimed to shape a diasporic art institution modelled on the Xiamen Academy of Fine Arts in China. Along with his colleagues—Chinese artists who migrated to Southeast Asia before and during wartime—Lim Hak Tai became synonymous with the Nanyang school/style of artists, which developed a distinctive style that fused tropical pictorial schemes with Western modernist techniques and Chinese traditional painting.Footnote 76 This pioneering generation often rendered Nanyang subject matter in a romantic and sentimental manner, a style widely recognized from exhibitions such as the 1979 retrospective sponsored by the National Museum of Art in Kuala Lumpur.Footnote 77 In contrast, the artworks exhibited by Yi Yan Hui and the EAS reveal alternative approaches. Their works are socially engaged, exposing the harsh realities of everyday life under colonial rule.Footnote 78 This ideological rift is encapsulated in the opening remarks of a Yi Yan Hui catalogue, where students critiqued their teachers’ work for its ‘surreal, unworldly’ formalism that diluted social reality and pacified the oppressed, representing a culture of rule in a class-based society.Footnote 79
To unravel NAFA’s complexities and move beyond the binary art world conceived by early critics, Lim Hak Tai’s contributions merit close scrutiny. Lim was not only the initiator and first principal of NAFA, but also as a member of the Singapore Arts Society (SAS), which worked with the British Council to further the colonial agenda of Malayanization. He emerged as a key advocate and trailblazer for ‘Nanyang art’.Footnote 80 For him, NAFA was a platform to cultivate an art that captured the ‘localness of a place’ and the ‘reality of the South Seas’. In 1955, he articulated a manifesto for Nanyang art, calling for:
1. Fusion of diverse cultures; 2. Bridging Eastern and Western artistic traditions; 3. Diffusion of scientific spirit and contemporary social thought; 4. Reflection of the needs of the peoples of Malaya and Singapore; 5. Expression of local tropical flavour; 6. Fulfilment of educational and social purposes.Footnote 81
However inspiring the vision of Nanyang art, its practice was not uniform. Faculty and students at NAFA, each with distinct aesthetic and ideological leanings, interpreted these principles differently. The first-generation of Nanyang artists, trained in both traditional Chinese ink painting and Western post-Impressionist abstraction, often produced works that rendered local scenes as idyllic paradises. In contrast, NAFA graduates—many of whom were influenced by the Chinese student activism and cultivated close connections with Yi Yan Hui—later organized themselves into groups, like the EAS. Their artworks were part and parcel of the Social Realism art movement that aimed to ‘evoke a desire for social action’ by engaging viewers as active participants rather than passive observers.Footnote 82 This dichotomous narrative, long perpetuated by early art historians such as Redza Piyadasa and T. K. Sabapathy, reflects a Cold War mindset that reduced everyday life to binary oppositions.
Recent revisionist scholarship, however, centres on Lim Hak Tai as a bridge between these two worlds, pointing to a ‘Third Way’, found in his practice and philosophy of ‘socially engaged art’—art that depicts social realities to raise awareness without forming an overtly political artist society.Footnote 83 Be it a ‘Third Way’ or ‘socially engaged art’, Lim’s artistic creation differs from either left-wing cultural group such as the EAS or the elite strata of Nanyang artists, and stands firmly on the ground of Nanyang and its people. In The Fearful Passing of Time (Inner Beauty) (1954) (Figure 11), Lim portrays a half-nude woman at a dressing table, with a skull reflected in the mirror—a dramatic, surreal composition that critiques the blind pursuit of material beauty and the moral decay of capitalist culture. It represents Lim’s socially engaged art-making through an allegorical critique of the blind pursuit of material gains, such as beauty. Influenced by the AYCM’s call to build a progressive Malayan culture, it further alludes to the morally corrupt capitalist culture, indicating that such a pursuit would only lead to self-destruction. Stylistically speaking, it can be seen as a surreal artwork that created a ‘drug-induced hallucination’, infused with bold and striking colour palettes.Footnote 84 The green glow around the mirror feels unnatural, almost toxic, adding psychological tension. The red fabric provides a visual anchor and suggests sensuality and danger. The brushstrokes are expressive—not anatomical—emphasizing emotional resonance over realism. The background and mirror area are loosely handled, enhancing the feeling of dreamlike ambiguity. This work demonstrates how Lim dealt with serious social realist issues while absorbing Western modernist techniques, combined with the local tropical flavour.
Lim Hak Tai, Inner Beauty, 1954. Oil on canvas, 80 x 60 cm.
In another work Riot (1955), Lim employs a Cubist style to depict a tumultuous crowd rendered as a mosaic of geometric shapes (Figure 12).Footnote 85 The canvas is packed with figures, objects, and signs, creating a claustrophobic, chaotic atmosphere. Overlapping planes create a sense of compression, highlighting the intensity of the situation. This painting, inspired by the real Hock Lee Bus Riot on 25 April 1955—where workers’ strikes escalated into violent clashes with police—illustrates how social activism among workers and students united against colonial forces. In the violent incident, workers at the Hock Lee Bus Company went on a strike, seeking a wage increase and improvement of their working conditions from the employers. The students turned up to support the strikers with socialist-themed songs and dances that were imported mostly from China. As more violent clashes broke out, the strikes escalated, with an estimated crowd of 2,000 workers and students rioting against the police.Footnote 86 The piece captures a ‘vicious, emotional campaign’ against authority, reflecting the dangers perceived by colonial officials who saw such sociocultural activities as facilitating communist infiltration.Footnote 87
Lim Hak Tai, Riot,1955. Oil on board, 49.5 x 89 cm.
The representational schema of Cubism first heralded from France. It gained potency as part of Cold War modernism, which was used by the United States to conduct cultural diplomacy and export its ‘free world’ ideology to its allies and Third World countries. The idiosyncratic formalist style of Cubism made it a suitable medium to express liberal democratic values such as individual freedom and individuality in art. Realist critique held that capitalism devours individuals by its exploitative system. In the same vein, abstract art such as Cubism rendered individuals as fragmented shapes devoid of realist details.Footnote 88 In other words, the individuals vanish altogether in the artworks. However, Lim’s use of Cubist fragmentation created an angry collective who were united to call for social changes. For Lim, the individual’s voices did not vanish, but instead converged with the collective to deal with pertinent social reality.
Woes of the Poor (1953) (Figure 13) was a rare collage work created by Lim Hak Tai in 1953. The subject of this work was rural life on a tropical plantation. Notably, the figures are arranged in a triangular composition, drawing viewers’ attention to the hunched man, who is cast expressively in a suffering and twisted posture. This reflects Lim’s inclination to adopt social realist themes to reveal the plight of the poor. The figures are stylized—not anatomically precise, but expressive, with chunky limbs, curved backs, and mask-like faces. Aesthetically, the painting resembles post-Impressionist styles (for example, Paul Gauguin), particularly in the use of bold colour blocks and simplified anatomy. Suffice it to say, like Lim’s other artworks, the painting is a hybrid blend of social realism, local landscapes, and Western modernist techniques.
Lim Hak Tai, Woes of the Poor, 1953. Mixed media collage, 19.8 x 17 cm.
What is particularly intriguing is that in 1966, Lim exhibited a larger oil painting titled Family, the prototype of which can possibly be traced back to his earlier work Woes of the Poor.Footnote 89 However, as curator Low Sze Wee notes, in the version of 1966, several details were altered: ‘the figures became more detailed; the seated female was now fully clothed, and the male figure in the foreground was no longer hunched over but seated, as if deep in contemplation’.Footnote 90 Most importantly, the change of title—by removing the ‘poor’ and neutralizing the emotional register—might imply the arduous balancing act between his socially engaged art-making and increasingly stringent government censorship. The latter, in particular, had much to do with the general radicalization of left-wing Chinese cultural groups, such as the EAS. It is plausible that despite his firm belief in using art to serve the people and fulfil educational and social needs, Lim might have wanted to distance himself from the hard-pressed social realist group, the EAS, while outwardly expressing his political stand on social issues.
In decolonizing contexts like Singapore, as Curley observes, local artists had to negotiate constraints and contradictions beyond the explicit narratives of the Cold War.Footnote 91 The varied artistic trajectories of Lim Hak Tai and his contemporaries underscore the sophisticated interplay of decolonization, nation-building, and internationalism that shaped Singapore’s art landscape during this turbulent era.
Conclusion
By focusing on the intrinsic qualities of these artworks, the article reveals an ‘ideological blindness’ that exposes the limitations of the Cold War’s oversimplified binaries—Western avant-garde art versus Soviet/Chinese Social Realism.Footnote 92 The article argues that the art produced by these artists does not conform to a rigid model of Social Realism (typically associated with the Soviet Union and Socialist China) but rather reflects a socially engaged aesthetic that addresses pressing social issues and identity politics in Singapore. Moreover, it challenges the assumption that ‘Cold War modernism’Footnote 93 is the sole source of inspiration for modernity and freedom, proposing instead a pluralistic framework that recognizes the diverse aesthetic and ideological influences found in both Chinese-dominated left-wing art societies and the NAFA institution. As art historian Kathleen Ditzig notes, the blending of political philosophies in emerging nation-states like Singapore, which operatively ‘borrow from both sides’, would offer a richer, multi-referential model of Cold War modernism.Footnote 94
Drawing on seldom-used visual materials by Chinese social realists and socially engaged artists, this article explores how alienated Chinese youth—comprising artists, students, and intellectuals—interpreted the Cold War and exercised agency within their sociocultural spaces. Traditionally, Singapore’s national narrative has framed Chinese student activism negatively, depicting these students as naive communist sympathizers manipulated by the MCP. However, recent revisionist scholarship, such as that of Huang Jianli, which challenges the binary view of Chinese versus English-educated youth, has begun to restore marginalized leftist voices to the historical narrative.Footnote 95 Building on these insights, this article grants full agency to Chinese artists-cum-students—whose grassroots perspectives are vividly captured in the social realist paintings under examination—and contests the view that cultural resources were solely mobilized by Asian elites to advance political agendas. As a matter of fact, ‘ordinary people lived and experienced the Cold War through various forms of cultural productions … draw[ing] connections between official political rhetoric and grassroots representations’.Footnote 96 In doing so, it responds to Masuda Hajimu’s call for a ‘Cold War history from below’ that captures the emotions, enthusiasms, and fears of ordinary people across Asia during both real and imagined conflicts.Footnote 97
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the two anonymous reviewers of this journal for their thoughtful comments and suggestions. I am also grateful to Professor Shelly Chan, Dr Yi Li, Dr Yiqing Li, and Dr Quanzhi Shu for giving helpful suggestions to improve the article. Special thanks to Koh Nguang How for sharing archival materials about the EAS and Mr Koeh Sia Yong for kindly agreeing to let me use his artworks.
Funding statement
This article is supported by the 2021 Major Program of the National Social Science Fund of China (grant number 21&ZD022) and Fundamental Research Funds for the Central Universities at Jinan University (grant number 23JNQMX17).
Competing interests
The author declares none.
